


Fire Door

by freiheitfuehlen



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freiheitfuehlen/pseuds/freiheitfuehlen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various snippets of one reality – mine but not too different from canon, written to one song line each of Ani DiFranco’s Fire Door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Door

 

 

**Fire Door**

 

_I opened the fire door to four lips, none of which were mine kissing. [Addison/Derek]_

 

It should not have surprised her. After all it was too perfect. Her mother had introduced her to him; said he suited her status. And that was that. Sealed and sent with a promise to disappoint.

He was nice and caring, almost to the point that made Addison suspicious of any hidden intentions. But so far he had met any expectation or challenge thrown his way. Addison seemed encouraged to meet both, her mother’s and her very own approval.

That was until she opened the fire door. Her heart started pounding and her mother’s words rang in her ears.

_One’s own flaws always reflect on others._

Addison laughed at her mother’s words. If only it were her own flaws which sunk her in the ocean of hurt and deception she would have reason to believe in justice.

She walked straight towards the shy, dark-haired fellow med student who had been nagging her all evening, trying to get her name.

“Addison,” she said curtly with a smile, taking his hand and walking briskly towards the door.

Her mother would tell her, hands stemmed into her hips, how inappropriate this liaison was and how unworthy he was of her name, their heirloom.

Though, Addison could not help but smile and think that maybe not meeting her mother’s approval might reflect on her happiness for a change.

 

 

_Tightened my belt around my hips where your hands were missing [Derek]_

 

The door creaked and Derek stopped dead in his tracks. He swore silently under his breath and hoped that no one had woken up. He stood silently, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. A few minutes passed without anyone making his way to the attic; no one but Derek that was. He climbed the last couple of stairs and knelt in front of a paper box. He opened it carefully, almost as if he was handling fragile goods. And in some way they were exactly that. The first item he saw, as usual was an old, worn Yankees hat. He let his fingers run over the rim of the hat and lightly traced the white Y with the tip of his index finger before he placed it softly next to box.

When he took out a leather belt, he brought it to his nose to inhale its very distinct scent. Smelling traces of smoke and his father’s perfume he sighed in relief.

When a heart stops beating the life vanishes, Derek would later learn. But sitting in the attic Derek swore that as long as he remembered his father’s very own scent he would live on, so he climbed the stairs every night.

 

 

_And stepped out into the cold, collar high, into the slate grey sky [Derek/Meredith, Derek/Addison]_

 

Derek used to hate the rain. When he had been a kid it prohibited him from playing catch with his best friend and watching the girls giggling in the little park near his house.

In the earlier years of his marriage to Addison he started appreciating the rain. They spent countless hours making love to each other when storms were ragging outside, leaving them oblivious to their surroundings and caught in each other embrace.

It rained on the night he found Addison in bed with Mark; both on the concrete and his soul.

When he stepped out into the crispy darkness, he shrugged of the cold and breathed into the night, fogging the air in front of him.

As the soft Seattle drizzle fell on Derek’s skin he felt like it was washing away the sorrows of his former life.

Meredith once asked him why he always went fishing in the pouring rain.

He would reply that it was the best weather to catch fishes.

And then he would murmur only to himself, almost inaudibly,

_It washed away his regret and guilt, too._

 

 

_The air was smoking and the streets were dry [Addison, Derek, Mark]_

 

Callie had asked her once, so had Bailey. Richard let her hog the OR for the day without further questioning. He did not have to, he was there, too.

Derek did not talk about it either. Mark had used it as a pick-up line on various occasions. Addison had admonished him and treated him with bitter silence for two months after she had found out.

Addison lit a candle every year.

“Were you there?” Izzie Stevens boldly asked, leaning against the sink with her hands crossed in front of her chest.

Addison merely nodded, dried her hands and walked out.

When Callie approached her table at lunchtime Addison got up quickly, threw her food in the bin and decided to get a drink after work; a strong one or two.

She traced the rim of the glass in front of her, filled with Scotch. She did not need to look up to see that Derek took a seat beside her. They had been married for over a decade after all.

He ordered a drink for himself. They sat in silence, acknowledging the inability for words to describe how deeply the hurt reached.

When Joe asked them if they were there that day while serving their third round of Scotch, they both said no. And they wished it was true.

When the clock struck midnight, they both paid their bills and left.

It was September twelfth, finally.

 

 

_And I wasn't joking when I said Good Bye [Amelia, Derek]_

 

Disappointment and anger were two emotions Amelia could live with. After all she had established a great record of failing over the years; expectations - her mother’s, her brother’s and her very own.

Silence unnerved her, left her restless with questions and doubt. So curiously enough when Derek broke his icy silence to ask how she could throw away her life like that. She only shrugged and replied nonchalantly,

“What’s there to live for anyway?”

 

 

_Magazine quality men talking on the corner. French, no less, much less of them then us. [Addison]_

 

Addison used to love hearing people speak French. Whenever her parents had visitors from France, she snuck out of bed and quietly climbed down the stairs, pressing her body against the staircase railing in an attempt to hear the way French filled the room with warmth and affection.

Addison was always keen to learn some French words. She would hover over the visitors and ask them to teach her some expressions. She repeated them to herself many times, until it sounded appropriately. When she deemed her effort successful she went to her father’s study and showed him beamingly what she had learned. She earned a smile and a dollar in return. Addison did not care about the money.

The day she found her father fucking their French maid she stopped learning the language.

Her mother once asked her, afterwards, why she had quit studying French.

Addison only shrugged and lied in as sincere a tone as she could muster in the presence of her mother.

“I didn’t like the sound of it.”

 

 

_So why do I feel like something's been rearranged? [Mark, Mark/Addison]_

 

Mark casually flirted with the assistant of the store, letting his finger tips run softly over the blue and white cotton.

“Boy or girl,” the assistant asked with a smile on her lips.

She put a strand of blonde hair behind her ears; a sign of nervousness Mark knew. He had a tendency to make women feel that way around him and he played that card often times, even unconsciously and never unwillingly.

“We don’t know yet.”

He spoke softly, taking the onesie from the rack.

Everything was falling into place, Mark thought, albeit completely different from what he had imagined his life to turn out. He should care more, Mark often told himself, after all he had alienated his best friend and the only family he had ever had. Instead he walked briskly along Manhattan’s streets to his apartment, their home now.

When he arrived, joyous and excited, instead of Addison he found a note.

_I went to Seattle.  
A._

 

 

_You know, taken out of context I must seem so strange [Addison, Derek]_

Addison did not believe in fate. Her upbringing had prevented her mind from entertaining the possibility any further.

If it was coincidence or luck, good or bad Addison had yet to decide, that she met him after so many years on the other side of the globe Addison did not know but she smiled curtly and answered all his questions with as much patience as she could muster.

He told her she looked beautiful. Addison only smiled lightly in return. After all these years everything that was left was polite conversation and it pained her to realize that she helped tear down their forever.

If Addison had been able to rewind the day’s events she would have never set foot on the steps in front of the Opera House.

In spite of everything they had said and done to hurt each other, on purpose or not, Addison would have gladly taken his absence and silence until deaths do part them.

At least then they could both pretend their love was more than a fleeting feeling, born in adolescent naivety and expired with time.

 

 

_When you and I are lying in bed you don’t seem so tall [Meredith/Derek]_

 

She watched him closely; his rhythmical and slow breathing, the way his face softened during those precious hours of rest and the way his eyelids twitched sometimes, indicating that he was dreaming – of her, maybe. She liked to believe he did.

She did not tell him about her nightly routine or the way she clung to his words, his promises of a future – his frail attempt at finding happiness, at last.

After all Meredith had learned – the hard way, that promises made by a broken heart are nothing but pieces of sand in an hourglass; always running out of time.

 

 

_I'm singing now because my tear ducts are too tired & my brain is disconnected but my heart is wired [Amelia]_

 

She had not cried. Her sisters had cried, her mother, too. Even her brother had been unable to hold back his tears over their father’s grave.

But Amelia could not cry, at least not over her father’s death.

Someone had shot him only mere feet beside her and all Amelia ever did was thinking about the pennies to buy her own town.

People wondered about her apathy, some took offense by the apparent lack of grief.

Amelia could not let these emotions – anger and guilt, run her path of life she had acknowledged that long before this tragic event happened.

When she finally caved in – threatened by isolation and indifference, she lost herself; in drugs, boys and alcohol.

And all Amelia ever thought afterwards, while preparing a syringe, was if only she had never accepted her own vulnerability.

 

 

_I make such a good statistic someone should study me now [Addison, Addison/Derek]_

 

Romances in the workplace rarely lasted. The pressure of expectations weighed the feeling of love down until there was no more feeling left.

Addison laughed sarcastically, shrugging her shoulders and declaring this train of thoughts as another good advice she had not taken.

When Derek asked her to take both houses out of sheer disinterest in everything ‘Addison’, she signed her name on the divorce papers, wished him luck with Meredith and left.

Seattle. But most of all she left behind the person she used to be and swore to herself she would never love someone again that worked in the same hospital.

 

 

_Somebody's got to be interested in how I feel just 'cause I'm here and I'm real [Mark]_

 

Maybe Lexie was the final straw breaking the metaphorical camel’s back – or Mark’s faith for that matter. But all Mark knew was that people could not march over his feelings – as genuine as their disinterest was, anymore.

He appreciated intercourse. He loved to experience. Hell, he simply loved women.

So when he resigned at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital – effective immediately, destination unknown, he knew one thing for sure; the only woman he would ever love from now on was Carolyn Shepherd.

 

 

_And oh, how I miss walking up to the edge and jumping in, like I could feel the future on your skin [Addison/Derek]_

 

“Marry me,” Derek whispered into the quietness of the night. He was not even sure that Addison had heard him. But he had felt this overwhelming desire to bind her to him for the rest of his life; to love and to hold, in sickness and in health until deaths do part them.

The silence was straining, leaving lingering questions and nagging doubt and therefore preventing Derek from falling asleep.

Maybe, he thought, he was alone in this; heavily invested with all of his heart and being.

Derek awoke to Addison’s lips wandering down his abdomen, closing in on his most sensitive body part. Maybe he would ask her again, later, but for now he lost himself in her touch and her kisses.

When they lay tangled in each other’s embrace, satisfied, Addison smiled at him and whispered,

“I’ll be your wife.”

The end.


End file.
